


Gold Bonding

by JulianObviouslyLovesToad



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Altered Mental States, Dubious Consent, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianObviouslyLovesToad/pseuds/JulianObviouslyLovesToad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years after the end of the Dominion War, Captain Benjamin Sisko, Emissary to the Prophets, returns. He isn’t alone, but no one notices until well after the dozens of awed but energetic greetings. Bajoran officers even shout and cry out in their joy, until they realize just who showed up with their link to the Prophets.</p><p>Garak doesn't like this one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Cups

Eight years after the end of the Dominion War, Captain Benjamin Sisko, Emissary to the Prophets, returns. He isn’t alone, but no one notices until well after the ever enduring Cassidy Yates-Sisko slaps him in the face for making her wait so long. No one is even aware of his company until after the freighter captain throws her arms around the man and kisses him silly, until after his flash of brilliant white teeth and dozens of awed but energetic greetings. Bajoran officers even shout and cry out in their joy, until they realize just who showed up with their link to the Prophets.

 

Garak finds that there is always something on his desk these days. From budgets to marriage licenses, from business permits to the hiring of new staff, there is always something that requires his attention. _It’s a rather mundane life_ , he supposed as he picked up another application for a marriage license, _but it’s better than I deserve, and I won’t complain about that._ He knows he’s not needed. He knows there’s a committee that does all the hard work and decision making. Sure, he sits in on it, offers suggestions, but everything comes down to a vote and he just lends his signature. Its blatant placation; a salaried job with a title but no real power, but it’s still better than he thinks he deserves.

“Urgent communication for you from Deep Space Nine, sir,” his secretary announces as she barges in, setting a cup of rokassa juice on his desk just a little too hard. Garak has to actively resist saying something about her mannerisms, how she’s too rough with objects, how she doesn’t bother knocking. _It doesn’t matter_ , he reminded himself, _I don’t have anything to hide these days._

“Put it through,” he said, motioning to the small monitor at his left. He took the cup in one hand and turned the monitor toward him with the other. He pushed the license request aside with his forearm as he sat the mug down, impatiently waiting for the young woman to route the signal. He wished, briefly, that he could order his staff to wear uniforms, if only to have his shapeless secretary wear something other than well-used tan trousers.

Garak’s face lights up when Doctor Bashir appears on the screen, and he feels a bit of his old self again, if only for a moment. It fades disturbingly quickly when the not-quite-young man doesn’t have his usual smile or cheer about him like he does when they have their monthly lunches over subspace.

“Garak,” Julian greeted.

“I take it this isn’t an urgent request for some friendly verbal sparring about some ancient Earth literature over a light meal, is it, Doctor?”

Julian almost-smiles for a second before answering, “I’m afraid not.” The doctor appears to be looking around for something before turning his attention back to the viewer. “I have a patient here who,” and he pauses for a moment, the age lines starting to frame his mouth showing the beginnings of a frown for just a moment before they settle. Garak finds that absolutely charming. “Who has seen, ah, better days, and I thought you might be interested in knowing that,” he splays his hands as if the words are there but he can’t quite grab them to put them in the right order.

“A Cardassian?”

“Yes, they-”

“Did you call me just for a list of Cardassian doctors? Surely you have all the information you need with the medical exchange, but I suppose I could compile a list of the very best. Tell me, what’s his condition? I’ll try to find a specialist-”

“Garak.”

“-on your behalf, but even you would have more sway than I do around here. I’m just a humble, oh, what would you call it? I believe the Terran equivalent is a Mayor? Yes-”

“Garak,” Julian raises his voice a little bit, his expression unamused.

“-I’m just a humble Mayor. Oh, but I’ve told you this much over our lunches, haven’t I? My, I’m only responsible, _tangentially_ , for fourteen thousand people.”

“ _Garak_ ,” Julian took an authoritative tone, and it made Garak snap his mouth shut and give a smile that was halfway between sheepish and devious. “I know you like to hear yourself talk and, quite frankly, I do too. _During our lunches_. Right now I am acting as Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine, and I have an important matter to inform you of, so I would appreciate it if you would just be quiet for a moment and let me speak.”

Garak raised his brow ridges, but his smile didn’t fade. “By all means,” he said.

“There,” Julian stops again, huffs and continues, “isn’t anything wrong with them from what I can detect. Not _physically_ , anyway, and Ezri has been working with them, but she’s not making much progress. Though,” and Julian brings his thumb to his mouth for a moment, as if he’s about to bite his nail, before resting his arm on the desk in front of him, “she did get the patient to make a request.”

Garak inclines his head in a plea for the other to go on, playing a childish game of keeping his lips firmly closed after being told to shut up.

“They asked to see you.”

“Oh?” Garak asked, game forgotten. “And just who is this patient of yours?”

Julian’s expression soured further. “It’s Dukat.”

“Dukat,” Garak repeated, deadpan. “I don’t know what Athra would want with me,” he said, hesitant, “when she could just contact her primary care physician.”

“It’s not Athra, Garak,” Julian said, shoulders stiff, eyes trained on Garak’s, “it’s Skrain.”

That gives Garak pause. “I was under the impression that he was killed on Bajor.”

“As was I, but apparently the wormhole aliens had other plans.” He sounds exasperated, runs a hand through his hair. “Look, Garak, he only asks for two things; rokassa juice, and you. If his recovery is to proceed,” he let the words hang in the air.

“And if I don’t care about his recovery?” Garak asked with a cheery inflection. “Why not just send him back here, where he belongs? Where he can answer for his treason.” Julian’s shoulders sag.

“Then I guess he will remain in my care permanently, or at least until I can find a care facility for him. He’s not fit to stand trial anywhere, Garak. Not a Federation court, not a Bajoran court, and certainly not a Cardassian court. He asks for _you_.” Julian sighed. “I’d hoped to keep this off of official channels because I know the New Civillian Government will be chomping at the bit to get him back and make him stand trial but, if I must, I can have Captain Sisko request that you-”

“Ah, the Captain has returned, has he?”

“Yes, and the two of you can catch up when you get here.”

“You assume I’m going anywhere.”

“You look like you could use a vacation.”

“This hardly sounds like a vacation, my dear,” Garak said, holding back a scoff.

“Garak, please,” Julian pleads, “as a personal favor to me.”

A question of _and why should I do_ you _any favors?_ crosses Garak’s mind, but he quickly shoves it away with a belabored sigh. “Fine. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

With a deep and grateful nod, Julian ends the communication.

Garak picks up his cup to take a drink, but finds himself looking at its contents instead. He suddenly finds the drink a lot less appealing. He runs down a mental checklist of all the things he needs to do before he can leave, signing off on the marriage license without even looking at the names.

“Haneri,” he calls out to his secretary, “how would you feel about taking a little trip with me?”


	2. One Broken, One Chipped

_The room is dark, barely illuminated enough for even the Cardassians with excellent low-light vision to see more than a silhouette. It reeks of kanar and sex, and the strange, metallic smell of blood and gold-pressed latinum flits over his scent glands when Garak greedily inhales the air._

_Dukat is nervous, and Garak finds it endearing. Sweet, really, that the older man considered what they’d just been through a sordid affair. It was barely extortion, nowhere near treason and no one had been killed, yet, but the man was knocking back a glass of something thick and alcoholic and almost imperceptibly shaking._

_Garak fully intended to soothe the man’s nerves before the night was over, hoping to entice him into feeling the same thrill that pulsed under his scales when these sorts of events came to pass. He wanted Dukat to feel the addicting, almost sexual sensation of setting up one of the dominoes that would eventually lead to the elimination of a threat to The State. He wanted Dukat to realize just how mundane his cushy job really is, that power in the public eye is_ nothing. 

_He thought about how Skrain would be a pretty little wreck when the elder Dukat was being held before his trial. He watched Dukat across the table, sipping his own drink and savoring it, and thought about how the younger Dukat would come to him in his distress. He would tremble and worry and whisper and do anything Garak wanted in an effort to save his father._

_Dukat flinched when Garak stood and walked around the table, but he kept one hand on his glass and the other in his lap. He drew his shoulders back when Garak’s hands brushed them, straightened his back when he felt the firm chest against the back of his head._

_“Do relax,” Garak nearly purred, “you’re so tense.” Bracing his thumbs on the shell of scales at his back, Garak hooked his fingers into the sensitive underside of Dukat’s neck ridges and rubbed back and forth, massaging. The hand in his lap shot up to the edge of the table. Garak moved on down Dukat’s shoulders, working out the tense muscles. “How was your evening with Preva?” he asked, leaning down. His lips brushed Dukat’s aural ridges, making Dukat jump and shiver._

_“How did you know about that?” he asked, his question nearly a moan from the strong fingers digging into his muscles._

_“I was a couple booths down, entertaining company of my own,” Garak said. He chuckled softly into the other’s hair, breathing out a little harder than he needed to so it would ruffle. “I was going to come over and say hello, but you looked so content with the young lady draped over your lap. Goodness knows she would have been disappointed if I’d come over.”_

_“Knowing you, you’d have stolen her,” Dukat joked, though it was breathy._

_“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. I want you to enjoy yourself.”_

_The way it’s hissed in his ear has Dukat on his feet, spinning around and breathing harshly. “Garak,” he says, and the two stare each other down for a long moment. Garak wears a sharp-toothed grin and Dukat’s glare is wavering. His gasp is barely audible when the younger man crowds Dukat against the wall._

_“I really do mean that,” Garak says, planting his hands on the wall on either side of that slender neck. Dukat is taller than he is, but his knees are bent in his fear of the situation, of Garak, of the shady dealings. “Everything is so much easier when you enjoy it.”_

 

“Garak.” Someone prods him with a blunt finger.

“What, Haneri?” he asked, turning his gaze to the woman sitting beside him on the transport vessel.

“You were snoring,” she complained, taking her hand back.

“How would I be snoring when I wasn’t even asleep?”

“But you were asleep. And before you try to claim that you weren’t, don’t. I’ve seen you fall asleep at your desk. You sleep with your eyes open. It’s creepy,” she said, holding one hand up.

As much as he wanted to protest that he ever fell asleep on the job, he let it go. He wasn’t in the mood to argue habits he did or did not have, though he was secretly thankful that she did wake him, even if it was only a daydream. Those memories were too far in the past to entertain even on a slow day, much less when he had something so daunting ahead of him.

At the dock, Julian and Benjamin greeted them. Or, they tried to. The Cardassians found themselves waiting off to the side for several long moments, watching Julian’s expression grow more exasperated and impatient by the second as Bajoran after Bajoran greeted the Emissary, shook his hand, bowed politely, asked for his blessing in one matter or another. When, _finally_ , the Captain was free, he eagerly extended his hand to Garak. The ex-tailor stared at it for a half-second, confusion writ on his face before he took it with a smile.

“Good to see you, Mister Garak,” Sisko greeted. He clasped his free hand over the back of Garak’s and positively beamed. His teeth seemed even whiter than Garak remembered them being, and it was a lovely contrast to his skin, if not a bit intimidating.

When Sisko released his hand, Garak inclined his head toward the other, “and you as well,” he spoke. “I take it you’re happy to be back from your eight year study abroad program with the wormhole aliens.”

“Very,” Sisko answered after Garak and Julian took each other about the elbows briefly in something akin to an embrace. Sisko reached out for Haneri’s hand, “Miss Sturm,” he offered when her eyes wouldn’t leave the Doctor.

“Oh! Uh, yeah! Nice to meet you Captain,” she said, quickly taking his hand in a grip that would powder the bones of a lesser man.

“A firm grip!” Sisko praised, his smile turning into an amused grin as Julian and Haneri merely nodded at each other.

“Sorry, I think,” she mumbled, eyes trained on the near-middle-aged man as he started to lead Garak away from the dock.

“Not at all,” Sisko said, patting the hard scales of her upper back hard enough for her to feel, turning her to follow the others.

 

_Garak’s boots click on the immaculate tile; they’re his favorite dress shoes. This is a special occasion, after all. Tain walks along behind him, a hand at the small of Garak’s back – at once guiding and following. It’s on his lips to ask his father if he’s proud of him, sharing that space with a falsely somber expression. But he’s no fool, and he keeps his mouth shut, imagining he can feel his father’s pride radiating from that rarely gifted touch._

_There are other agents of the Order in nearby groups, their families and other associates in tow. Some even have their next marks with them. One man, Karal Blut – and Garak admits to himself that might not even be his real name – makes eye contact with him as he passes, walking just a bit faster than Tain and Garak’s leisurely stroll. He was one of the men who had first trained Garak upon entering the Order. One of Garak’s favorites, and one he hoped would never fall out of Tain’s favor. Strands of silver had started to appear in his hair and they looked so fine and delicate, like they were little filaments woven in just for the sake of a more distinguished look. For all Garak knew, they could have been, but it made him hunger, and he was sure the heat he felt translated through his eyes because Karal’s lips twitched._

_Garak, believing himself due a reward, turned his gaze forward again. He’d ask, later, if Karal wanted to join him in sampling the newest Bajoran comfort women. He hoped there would be one of the darker skinned ones this time around. The men who picked them always favored the fair, frail ones, the ones most similar to the ideal Cardassian woman, save the hips that Bajoran women could simply not achieve. While that worked in a pinch, Garak found that he enjoyed a bit of variety, and more hearty bedmates, even the barely willing ones. He also found the texture of the darker-skinned Bajorans’ hair absolutely delightful when he brushed his fingers through it. How no one else found beauty in it, he didn’t know._

_But he’d show Karal that night, high on the feeling of a job well done, just how lovely that hair felt when he guided the older man’s hands into it and watched his lips part in his pleasure._

 

There are a lot of things Garak had expected upon entering the infirmary, upon seeing Dukat again for the first time in so many years; disgust, anger, righteous fury, a sense of glee and almost-accomplishment even though he wasn’t the one who had reduced Dukat to- whatever his predicament may be. But he didn’t feel any of that as the slightly warmer air rushed out to greet them when the doors swished open. He didn’t feel any of that as he was guided over to a bed with Ezri standing next to it. What he did feel was a bit of pity for the still-young Dax, having to counsel the man who killed her previous host. The memory must be fresh in her mind every time she laid eyes on him, a torture unique to joined Trill. There wasn’t the slightest bit of anger, or anything at all, as he laid eyes on the slender, older man reclining on the bed with a cup in his hands. Perhaps there had been a bit of surprise at how Dukat hadn’t aged a day since last he saw him, but felt nothing. Nothing was shortly followed by a mild bout of existential dread over the fact that he felt nothing, but he kept his mouth shut, his eyes on Dukat and his ears trained to Ezri as she spoke.

She informed him of the man’s behavior over the past two weeks, which was how long he’d been there. How he only sipped at rokassa juice and gave the names of people he’d wanted to see. Garak was the first one he’d mention who had still been alive, other than a simple ‘Dax’, and that raised Garak’s brow. Dukat was nearly white, deathly pale. He had apparently been in fine health when he’d first shown up with the Captain, but he’d refused to eat. Refused to do anything, really, other than mutter names, and he only did that anymore when Ezri spoke to him.

“Dukat,” she said with a voice far too gentle for dealing with someone like him, “Garak is here.” She put her hand on the man’s bared forearm, his short-sleeved, paper thin pale teal tunic making him look even more sickly.

“Garak?” Dukat muttered, raising his vacant gaze. Garak tried not to let his lip curl up in disgust as a sort of recognition slowly made seemed to dawn on Dukat. Relieved that he was starting to have an emotional reaction at the event, Garak managed to stomp down on the reaction.

“You remembered me,” Garak said, as if that alone would bring Dukat out of this pathetic stupor.

“I remembered,” he started, looking distant again. He blinked and focused his gaze on Garak’s face, taking in every detail. “Yes, but no. You were important to me for some reason.” His gaze then fell on Haneri, who had miraculously been silent this whole time. “Your wife?” he asked.

Haneri didn’t try to stop the bark of laughter she let out. “Me? Oh, no,” she said, hands on her chest over a plain button-up blouse. “I like men,” she answered. Beyond Dukat, Garak saw Julian suck his lower lip into his mouth to avoid laughing. Garak gave a huff through his nose and shot his secretary a sideways glare.

Dukat laughed weakly. Ezri looked ecstatic.

“Another cup, please?” Dukat asked, holding out the mug to Ezri. “I think Mister Garak likes it, too.”

“No thank you,” Garak said, holding up a hand. “I’m not thirsty at the moment. Ah, in fact, I think it would be best if we got settled in to some temporary quarters before we discussed the situation.”

“Of course,” Benjamin said from where he’d been quietly observing from the doorway.

As they were led out, Garak had to glance back when he heard Dukat ask Ezri; “Have I done something wrong?” Beyond the two, Julian’s expression said ‘yes, a great many things, unfortunately,’ but he didn’t speak.

To say that Garak was grateful that he wasn’t asked to share quarters with Haneri would be an understatement, but he did want to show her around. He reclined on the bed he was provided with as he left her to freshen up. He drifted through the rest of his earlier unfinished memory, trusting Haneri to ring him when she was ready.

 

_Back against the wall, Dukat had quivered. Oh, sure, he tried to give off the appearance of holding his ground; the stern glare, the fists at his sides, the slight puffing of his chest even though every fiber of his being was telling him to curl in on himself. It truly was sweet._ _Garak let out a breath in Dukat’s face, a clear threat, then soothed away thee sudden spike in tension with his lips. A gentle press against his aural ridges was a bit affectionate of a gesture, a bit childish for someone like Garak, but he desperately wanted Dukat to open up to him. If he was as suggestible as the younger man thought he was, a few kind words and gentle caresses would have him like putty in his hands, that slender neck bared for his teeth willingly._

_“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?” Garak cooed, never giving Dukat more contact than just the gentle drag of lips across his ridges as he spoke, a tender caress with them if he took too long to answer. “Even in your youth, when you were allowed to, you never took the chance, hmm?” When the only response from Dukat is a slight turning away of his head, Garak continued; “Such a good boy, thinking about starting a family even in your youth. Living for your future sons when most boys can only think about something warm on their prUt. How is Athra, by the way?” Dukat bites out something that sounds vaguely like ‘fine,’ and Garak smirks before going on. “Oh, but you shouldn’t deny yourself the pleasure. It truly is an experience. Being stretched open, almost to the point of pain.” When Dukat flinches, Garak changes tactics, knowing he’ll have the slender man eventually. “It’s as tight as a woman, but even smaller as it’s obviously not made for that. But, even unable to be fully inside, there’s the added benefit of how tight your partner gets when you gently run your fingers along the underside of their-” running the backs of his fingers down Dukat’s cheek to mimic his description of what to do to a lover’s prick, he stopped to gasp, over-exaggerated. “Oh, my dear,” he whispered, Dukat’s shame evident on his face when he tipped his head back against the wall in defeat._

 

Garak cracked an eye open in annoyance. Of course Haneri would interrupt just as he’d gotten to the second best part of the memory, the part where he’d left a fully everted Dukat to stew in his shame and his want.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he groused as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes. The doors swished open as he approached and, finding Haneri mid-press of the chime, he lightly rapped her knuckles. “Must you abuse the technology so?” he chastised. She almost pouted.

Garak showed his secretary around the promenade, pointing out various old haunts. She insisted on stopping for a drink at Quark’s, and wound up in conversation with a passing group of Human and Risian dancers, of all the people. He wondered if he’d have to drag her away by the ear like the child she often acted like but, to his surprise, she left before she got tipsy and tried to pick up one of the burlier dancers.

He swung by the unit his old shop used to occupy for old times’ sake, and found that, out of some sort of cosmic justice that he didn’t feel like dissecting at the moment, it was replaced with another clothier. Shersam’s Boutique and Haberdashery. Garak almost clicked his tongue at the idea that he’d been replaced by a Bajoran who wasn’t much younger than he, if the man he caught a glimpse of through the window was any indication. Tall, in decent shape for his age and with neatly coiffed brown hair dusted with white, the man drew Haneri’s attention immediately.

“Haneri, no,” Garak said, catching on to the quality of her gaze.

“Haneri, yes,” his secretary hissed back playfully, tottering off toward the shop.

Garak heaved a heavy internal sigh. He had at least half an hour until he was supposed to meet with Dax, Bashir and Sisko about his role in this farce with Dukat, but he headed toward the infirmary anyway since Haneri was lost to her cross-species dalliances. He would dig for information early, he decided, get to work so he wouldn’t regret his decision.

Not that he already didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's dreadfully hard not to type "Damar." I'm picturing Dukat in my head, but my body wants Damar.
> 
> ...
> 
> Wait.


	3. The Pieces Picked Up

_Garak expects to feel a rush of devious, dark joy and a bolt of searing hot anger when he sees Dukat again for the first time in several years, but is only a little surprised to find that his attention is consumed by that brilliant, young Human. He’s so proud of him for putting the pieces together, even if he did need a rather forceful shove in the right direction. Oh, the pride nearly forces his chin up, and it takes a great deal of effort to keep his head level, to not bear his teeth, to not take the furry young thing by the biceps, push him back against the nearest wall and bite his neck in front of everyone. It takes a great deal of effort not to seize him and leave ‘I did that’ marks all over the tanned skin._

_Eventually, his eyes do drift to Dukat, and he admires the lithe neck, the way the man trembles under his scales. As lovely as it is, his eyes are drawn back to his pet project._

That’s when the apathy began.

_Julian pounds out his tale, and it’s not as eloquent as Garak would’ve liked, but neither is Dukat when he demands the relevance of the details. He should know that every detail is relevant, but Julian placates when the captain barely hides his amusement and agrees with Dukat. At once, Garak gains a new respect for Sisko, knowing Dukat and even Julian can’t read his microexpressions; and he wants the lithe doctor that much more, because the false placation and circling around to the conclusion he intended from the start are very promising indeed._

_When Dukat looked at him, Garak knew his own expression would seem to the others to be little more than a smug grin at besting an old rival. But it was so much more than that. It said_

I’m over you.

I’m over you, and you’re not over me.

 

“Garak, are you listening?” Julian inquired, irritation obvious in his voice. Dax, Sisko and a security officer whose name Garak didn’t care to remember looked at him expectantly. Dax looked a bit sheepish, and Garak could hardly blame the Bajoran security officer for looking the slightest bit wary, and Sisko seemed almost bored with a pleasant undercurrent of amused.

“Of course I am, I just don’t see why I’m needed for this, ah, endeavor,” Garak answered, sitting up a little straighter. “If anyone would jog his memory, it would be Athra Dukat. She’s spent more time with that man than any other living being.” Garak lets a finger hover over his lips for a moment before he gives in to the urge to make a barb; “She must have the patience of a saint.

“I think calling up Dukat’s estranged wife would do little more than frustrate them both, especially if he doesn’t remember her,” Benjamin said, leaning forward in his chair. He rested an elbow on the table before him and he braced his chin on his hand, one finger resting just below his lips. “I can imagine her screaming and upturning everything in the infirmary.”

“Oh, I think that will be far better than what will happen when Dukat starts to remember me, Captain.”

 

_Garak was writhing, panting out his pleasure and gripping the biceps of the man over him. He played it up for his captivated audience; aborted little gasps as if he were trying to stay quiet, his eyes lidded like he was having trouble keeping them open in the face of such pleasure, the trembling he’d taught himself to use when dealing with older men._

_It wasn’t entirely an act, the elder Dukat was an attentive lover. Tender and gentle, he gave as good as he received. Garak thought,_ it’s a wonder he only has fourteen children _. Skrain, his twelve siblings, and a bastard the sentimental older man had let escape. Garak gave a startled little gasp as long, thick fingers worked their way into his purse, letting sensation dictate his act._

_He squirmed, knowing the elder Dukat would see it as a sort of confusion at the supposedly new pleasure, but Garak was trying to get him to push the pads of his fingers deep enough, hard enough, to brush the erectile tissues along the roof of his purse. But the man was so careful, damn him! He would only rub his fingers along the tender parts just inside his slit, thumbing the very tip of his prick which he’d only everted enough to part the scales, as if he was trying to get Garak used to the feeling of being penetrated. Garak already knew it was a sensation he liked, but he had to play coy._

_The waiting was infuriating. He begged so sweetly, but he was only hushed, fingers softly, slowly probing deeper, opening him up. Surely the elder Dukat could feel how ready he was, his hand drenched with Garak’s semi-natural lubricant. He was tight, yes, the Jungjatnafil he'd injected earlier in full effect, but his purse was sweating pearls of want like a young woman on her honeymoon! Couldn’t the man be just a little selfish and take him already, Garak wondered, he was going to be executed for treason in eleven months, after all._

_Even though all of the adult siblings that still lived with the elder Dukat had been instructed to retire for the evening, one set of footsteps in the hall caught Garak’s attention. There was no change in his expression; the older man only saw him turn away, his head toward the wall with the door out of embarrassment from how much pleasure he was feeling. Anticipation made Garak tingle all over as the steps slowed closer to the slightly cracked, old-fashioned door._

_Garak came on the elder Dukat’s fingers with a truthfully startled cry when he realized the eye peering through the crack belonged to Skrain._

 

Dukat is far too agreeable, in Garak’s opinion. The Cardassian is quite frankly _stunned_ that the young Dax thought it would be a good idea to let Dukat have lunch in the replimat, memories intact or not. That she would let him out from behind a force field, even with two security officers positioned a table away, Bashir, Haneri and herself around the table, extra chairs pulled up, was unbelievable.

“You’re,” there’s a half second or more pause between each of Dukat’s words, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, “Garak’s secretary?”

“Must be rough,” Julian teases, then smiles around his spoon.

“It’s not so bad,” Haneri said between bites, eagerly sampling the local cuisine with both her mouth and her eyes, “he complains a lot, but other than that? Not so bad. I was a courier before Mister Garak hired me, so at least I get to eat lunch indoors now.”

Garak raised a brow ridge, a bit surprised that Haneri would use honorifics and insult him in the same breath. "I do not complain,” he said, spearing a thick vegetable on his salad plate. “I’m simply efficient.”

“Haneri, don’t put the dishes down so hard,” she mocks. “Haneri, do you have to play with your hair like that? Young lady, do you own any other color of trouser?”

“Well, in defense of that last one, he was a tailor before becoming Mayor,” Julian offered.

“Maybe you should let him make you something,” Ezri suggests.

“Oh, no,” Garak and Haneri answer at the same time. Garak continued; “even the nicest clothes won’t do anything for a rugged personality.”

Dukat watches the proceedings with a lost little smile, his hands around a cup of rokassa juice. He startles when Ezri places her hand on his arm. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said when noticed his drink had dribbled on the table when he’d jostled it.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I just wanted to ask you if you remember Garak being a tailor.”

“No, I,” he pauses, looking up at Garak who has a look of mild irritation on his face as he side-eyes Haneri, “don’t. I remember he was a family friend, I believe.” His face scrunches briefly before returning to its happily lost look.

“That’s alright. It’ll come back eventually,” she says.

Dukat looks down at her hand, then over at Julian, then down to his food.

“What is that?” he asked.

Those gathered around the table watched as Julian explained, “It’s a dish of Human origin. It’s called ‘clam chowder.’ I eat it when I’m feeling nostalgic for old friends.”

“May I try it?” Dukat asked, looking hopeful.

“Sure,” Julian said, pushing his tray forward. “I’ll get you a spoon.”

When Dukat takes a bite of the soup, his eyes glaze over briefly. _A memory_ , Garak suspects.

“It’s good. Thank you,” Dukat gives a little nod.

“Would you like your own bowl?” Ezri asked, all bubbly smiles.

“No, thank you. My stomach is a little upset,” Dukat answers.

“Mine as well,” Garak added at the deflating look on Dax’s face. Only Julian and Haneri resume eating. She even cleans Garak’s plate when he slides it to his side, in front of her.

 

The following day, Captain Sisko invites those involved in Dukat’s memory recovery to dinner.

“He thought Jake was his father for the first four years of his life,” Cassidy said with a laugh. “I’ve only recently convinced Benji to stop calling him ‘Uncle Jake.’” 

Cassidy grabs her young son and pulls him into her lap to keep him from running around underfoot. At seven, he struggles and complains a bit before settling in, defeated. The defeat is quickly forgotten when he’s given a stiff, crunchy bread stick to munch on. Dukat keeps smiling at the happy family, gives a nod of thanks when Jake sets a plate down in front of him.

Some present wonder if Jake remembers the incident with the Pah-Wraiths.

As Dukat turns that happily lost look at Garak, he leans toward Ezri to ask, “I had children, didn’t I?”

Everyone else tenses, even Jake and Benjamin, who are placing dishes on the table, but Ezri handles the situation with grace; “Yes, you did. Do you remember them?”

“I think, I remember, there was a death in the family? My children have passed on, haven’t they?” He had been about to put his hand on Ezri’s arm, but he folds his hands in his lap instead.

“Well,” Ezri starts, turning toward him, “yes, there was a death in the family. About nine, maybe ten years ago. But you can talk to her closest friends later, if you like.” Dukat looked up when she rests her hand on his arm. He put his hand over hers and gave a nod that was a gesture unique to Dukat.

Julian casts a glance at Garak and finds his old friend fighting back a shudder at the idea of talking to Dukat about Ziyal.

“I think I’d like that,” Dukat says, “after I’ve remembered- her, you said?”

“Yes. There’s no need to rush.”

 _Please do hurry,_ Garak can’t help but think, _I’d like to see this through to its rightful conclusion and go home._

Dinner resumes.

Afterward, Dukat asked Garak if he could walk with him for a bit. Ezri encourages it. Benjamin calls a security officer to shadow them.

The walk is a silent one, Dukat’s face twisting with negative emotion. When they reach Garak’s door, the room’s temporary inhabitant gives Dukat an expectant look.

“You don’t like me,” plainly stated.

“We haven’t gotten along for quite some time,” Garak answered with a little dip of his head.

“What did I do?” Dukat asked. He lifted a hand, about to place it on Garak’s arm, but upon noticing how Garak watched the movement, he took it back.

“It wasn’t any one thing in particular.”

“How do I fix this?” Dukat asked, eyes pleading. What Garak wouldn’t have given to have seen that look a couple decades ago.

“You won’t want whatever _this_ is to be fixed when you get your memories back.”

“You can’t know that,” Dukat says, looking like he’s about to stomp his foot. The security officer bristles, but Garak shoots him a look that tells him to calm down. “We were close, once.”

“That was a very long time ago,” Garak said, turning toward his door. “We’ll talk at length tomorrow. This gentleman will escort you, ah, wherever it is that you need to be.”

Garak didn’t see the look of devastation on Dukat’s face. Didn’t see him drop to his knees, as the doors had already closed behind him. Wasn’t aware of the guard nudging the older man to his feet and gently steering him away from the door, back toward the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I was working on this, my boyfriend decided to ask me which part I was working on. My eloquent answer was; "uh, the part where Garak fucks Dukat's dad." To this, my boyfriend just grinned and walked away. A few minutes later, he pokes his head around the corner.
> 
> "HEY DUKAT," he said, "I FUCKED YOUR DAD!" and he started humming the Family Guy theme as he went back to doing the dishes.


	4. And In Lacquer Are Dipped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of not-terribly-graphic torture and violence in this chapter.

Garak and Dukat did speak, for hours, the next morning. But, with all the medical staff milling about and hovering over their shoulders, they didn’t make much progress – at least in Garak’s opinion. He wasn’t about to share the jarring details that would surely snap Dukat back into place in front of nurses and friends. He tried to keep his irritation in check, but Ezri’s shadow, the young lady studying under her, was almost as annoying as Haneri. He paled a bit when he thought of the havoc those two would wreak if they ever made acquaintance.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I think now would be a good time to break for lunch,” Garak announced. Dukat heaved a sigh, but forced a smile when it drew Ezri and Garak’s attention.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Ezri said.

As Julian walked over, his step as brisk as ever, a loaded hypospray in hand he asked, “Are you sure you’re hungry, and you’re not just planning to go harass that secretary of yours out of bothering the new friend she made?”

“Oh,” Garak near-groaned, “what has she done?”

“Nothing,” Ezri said, her voice admonishing as she pouted in Julian’s general direction. She then turned toward Garak, “he’s just gossiping. She’s only talking with Mister Shersam.”

“’Talking’,” Julian mocked. Dukat offered his neck as the doctor showed him the hypospray. “More like managing a few words between drooling and trying on clothes.”

Garak watched Julian’s administration of two different hypos with great interest. “My tactless secretary aside, may I ask what those are?”

“Well, the first is a supplement, since Mister Dukat finds himself unable to eat. The second-”

“Is for my upset stomach,” Dukat finishes for Julian. “I’m terribly sorry, Doctor. I’d like to try eating again today. Ah, perhaps in the evening,” he said, a shy gaze drawing up over Garak, appraising his suede and silk tunic. Garak could feel his eyes widening and turned his attention to Ezri to avoid Dukat seeing his reaction.

“If you stick to something simple like a broth and a biscuit, you should be just fine to eat any time you wish,” Julian said. He patted Dukat’s arm, and Garak found the casual action disconcerting, especially from someone as clever as Julian.

Garak figured that if they had dinner together as Dukat implied he’d desired, they’d make a good deal of progress. Whether that progress proved that this was an act, or jogged Dukat’s memory, only time would tell. Garak found himself both looking forward to and dreading it. Before he could dissect the new feelings, he gave a curt nod and breezed from the infirmary.

 

_”Elim,” the elder Dukat breathed in relief when Garak stepped into the room. It was unbearably bright, and Garak could only assume he glowed in the dark eyes of the man only held to the chair by a simple pair of cuffs. “Thank goodness you’re here! You’ll tell them I’m-” the word ‘innocent’ died on his lips as he took in the insignia on the younger man’s lapel. “No, no, no. Please, no.”_

_”No, what?” Garak asked, all faux innocence and sharp-toothed smiles. “I merely stopped by for lunch with an old,” he cocked his head to the side as he considered the elder Dukat, “friend.” Garak watched the other’s eyes dart around, looking for lunch trays, weapons, anything but the table, the chair and the light._

_”Why, Elim?” he hissed, looking back up at the man he had to squint to see. “All those nights we spent together meant nothing to you?” was the harsh whisper._

_”Did you really think we had a future together? Two adult men, one of whom, might I remind you, is married?” Garak took up the only other chair in the room, relaxed back into it and smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in his uniform pants. “Though I will say you were an,” he tilted his head side to side as he considered his choice of words, inspecting his nails, “_ adequate _lover, I suppose. Huh,” Garak said, flipping out a knife in a flash, the metal glinting in the harsh light, only to start cleaning his nails with it. “Our dinner will be here soon. I should really get us both cleaned up before then.” He set about cleaning his nails. A few minutes into cleaning his nails, Garak gasped and gave an over-exaggerated “oh!” He stood and held his hand out over the table. “Look what I’ve gone and done to myself!” he said, showing his former lover his bleeding fingertip. “I can really be quite clumsy sometimes. Oh well. We should really get your nails clean before you eat.”_

_Garak could feel the elder Dukat squirming as he rounded the table. He knelt to inspect the fingernails of the other’s left hand. “Do be still,” Garak advised, taking a hold of the older man’s wrist in a firm grip. The elder Dukat continued to tremble as Garak carefully maneuvered the blade under one nail after the other until-_

_Dukat wailed and Garak tutted. “I told you to hold still, didn’t I? Well,” Garak said as he stood, “at least your nails are clean now.” He licked the knife, just barely in Dukat’s view as if he were trying to hide the action, moaned softly and tucked the blade away. ”Well, when our food comes, we can eat.” He took his seat once more to fold his hands and rest his chin on them, just watching the elder Dukat._

_The older man babbled while Garak watched him, “please, sweet thing, my dear, dear child.”_

_“Ah!” Garak said, his eyes alight with cheer when someone entered, putting a plate of food in front of both men. “Oh, this does smell wonderful,” Garak commented, as if they weren’t in a torture chamber. “Thank you,” he gave a polite nod to the deliverer, who promptly left. “Mm,” Garak moaned, tearing into his meal with a military man’s gusto. After finishing, Garak looked up and frowned. He stood, taking a leisurely stroll around the table. “You know,” Garak started, petting his former lover’s hair, “it’s incredibly rude to not even_ taste _the food that you’re given.” He seized the man’s hair in his fist and slammed his face into the plate, breaking it. “You’re being incredibly disrespectful!”_

 

“Oh, there he is!” Garak heard Haneri’s voice as he was about to walk past with his tray. “Boss,” she said, swiveling around in her seat, “come sit with me.” Garak raised his brow ridges, fully intent on sitting either by himself or with someone he didn’t know, but he turned on his heel and did as beckoned. When he noticed the Bajoran shop keep sitting with Haneri he thought, _well, I suppose one of those criteria have been met. But him of all people._

“You must be Mister Shersam, the clothier who replaced my humble establishment,” Garak said pleasantly. “I hope my young secretary hasn’t been too much of an annoyance.” Haneri made a noise in her throat and shot him an unamused look.

“Haneri has been a delight, 'Gul' Garak,” the man said, studying Garak’s face with a level stare, his shoulders back, but not tense. Garak clicked his tongue.

“Please, those days are far behind me. I’m nothing more than a signer of marriage licenses these days. Little more than a notary,” he said, inclining his head but keeping a close eye on the man.

“It’s more than you deserve, I think,” the man said, smiling sweetly. “But I suppose I do owe you a _small_ ,” he emphasized, “debt of gratitude. Your incompetence in the capitol did wind up sparing my niece’s life.”

“I have always had a soft spot for children,” Garak admitted after he swallowed his food and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “And,” he continued, taking a bite of his food to consider the taste. He waited a long moment, trying not to grin with how Haneri was on pins and needles, waiting for him to finish. “At least we agree on something.”

There was a moment of silence, the Bajoran struck stupid, Haneri overcome with relief.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Garak said, giving a slow nod, “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

“I’ll finish it and throw your tray in reclaim,” Haneri offered.

“Thank you,” Garak said. “Have a good time. Oh, and Mister Shersam? Please, do behave with my young secretary. She is rather impressionable and I don’t want to have to come to her rescue.”

“Mister Garak!” she cried, mortified. Garak gave one of his award winning smiles before heading off.

 

Ezri managed to talk Garak into having Dukat for dinner in his temporary quarters. He hadn’t wanted to have the other man in such an intimate setting for their discussion, but there were guards outside the door and anything said wouldn’t be overheard by people he’d grown to care for, so he gave. He replicated Dukat’s broth and biscuit and tried a new fish dish for himself.

Dukat seemed puzzled by his own military achievements, by the idea that the station they were on had once been under his command. He even shook his head at the idea that Bajor had once been occupied by Cardassia. Garak had been in the middle of a rousing tale about some battle they’d supposedly been in long ago, talking with his hands, when Dukat’s eyes glazed over. Garak paused, hands still in the air, and regarded Dukat with curiosity.

“Ah, shall I call the doctor?” Garak asked when Dukat came back to himself. The older man was shaking, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. He reached across the small table and grabbed Garak’s hand, pulling it toward himself. “Dukat,” Garak said plainly. Dukat only turned Garak’s hand this way and that, examining it.

“I-” Dukat gulped. “-I broke your fingers, once.”

“You did,” Garak answered with a nod. “Three of them, to be exact. And eight other bones in my hand.”

“Why?” Dukat asked, cradling Garak’s hand as if it were still broken, his voice pitched like he was holding back a sob.

Garak had considered confronting Dukat, taking him by the throat and pushing him back against the wall. He considered hissing threats until the older man gave up his little farce, but he decided against it, wanting to see where Dukat was going with his act. He started to doubt then, with the older man running his thumbs over Garak’s sensitive palm, that it was a ploy at all.

“You were angry with me.”

 

_”You bastard!” Dukat had snarled right after overriding the locks to Garak’s quarters. The insult didn’t sting nearly as much as Dukat had intended, and Garak merely grinned over the rim of his mug of tea._

_”Look who is talking,” Garak answered calmly. He only looked milly irritated when Dukat slapped the mug from his hand._

_”I don’t know how you got out of it, but mark my words-”_

_”I would be careful with what I were about to say, if I were you,” Garak teased._

_Enraged, Dukat drew his fist back. Garak tilted his chin up, welcoming it._

_Garak laughed when he found himself sprawled out on the floor, pleasure rolling down him in waves from his face. He can feel the first tinglings of arousal, a reaction to the sudden onset of the implant coming to life that he hadn’t yet been able to tamp down on. “Oh my, is that invigorating!” he marvels, smiling up at Dukat as the angry older man strides over to him. Garak hears the crunch of bone when Dukat’s boot comes down, but he doesn’t feel it. What he feels is a full body_ euphoria _cascading along every nerve ending. He moans, his back arching, toes curling, and almost doesn’t catch Dukat’s words._

_“You sick, low-born bastard! Getting off on this!” He grinds his boot, but Garak’s whimper is one of pleasure. “I should have known! From the moment you first showed up in my house,” he trails off, balking at Garak’s laughter. He spits, turns on his heel and storms out._

_Garak gets to his hand and knees, trembling from sensation. He outright_ giggles _as he thrusts his battered hand into his slacks, finding his slit weeping like he’d taken Jungjatnafil._

 

“You had every right to be,” Garak continued, wincing at the memory.

“No!” Dukat shouted. Garak almost pulled back, but it wouldn’t have done any good as the older man crowded into his personal space, dragging his chair closer. “No, I don’t- I remember grinding my boot on your hand while you lay writhing on the floor. I- nothing could have possibly warranted that.”

“Believe me,” Garak said, raising his free hand to gently pry Dukat’s hands from his, “it didn’t hurt as much as you may think.”

“I’m sorry,” Dukat said, swallowing thickly. He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m so sorry. I’ve done terrible things to you. I can’t remember but- it’s all there, on the- my periphery. I’m so sorry, for all the things I’ve done.”

Garak can’t help the way his eyes widen, but he quickly gets the reaction under control. “You’ve no need to apologize. We’ve done terrible things to each other.”

After giving a shake of his head, Dukat stares at his folded hands for the next forty-three minutes. Until their scheduled visit was over.


	5. Precious Metals Powdered

Over the following few days, Dukat’s eyes would glaze over as he stopped talking, stopped paying attention to others who were talking. He’d remember something – a name, a place, a food, but nothing Garak found of great significance. After Dukat’s grabbiness, Garak wouldn’t entertain even the idea of being alone with the older man, much less having him in his quarters, even if they were only temporary ones. Over the nights, he padded around his small living area, restless, a PADD in hand as he tried to read. He shuffled around barefoot, remembering how the course, scratchy carpet had been one of very few things that had brought him a bit of relief during his time in exile.

 

_”What did you say to him, Garak?” Julian asked between hurried bites of whatever it was he’d been eating. The Cardassian had assumed Julian had learned to take his meals at a leisurely pace, with how long it took them both to finish over their monthly subspace lunches, but he had apparently thought wrong. From the smell of things, Garak assumed the doctor was crunching on some sort of breaded fish._

_”What do you mean?” Garak asked, a little bit of false offense slipping into his voice. “I merely told the man of some of my less, ah, distasteful memories involving him.” Julian sized him up for a moment and Garak almost grinned, the distrust of his statement very flattering, indeed._

_”Like what? I really would like to know what you consider ‘less distasteful,’” Julian said as he tried to make his eating look nonchalant, but he came off as a bit pretentious. Forced pleasantness, Garak noted, stomping down on his internal glee. “Considering he spent the rest of my shift in bed and_ crying _.” A well placed side-eye pinned Garak with the question._

Oh, but Julian was getting good at drawing out information.

_”Ah. That I think I can answer,” Garak said, gesticulating briefly with his fork. “You see, he seemed a bit disturbed by his military achievements. The closer we came to present-day, the more upset he became.”_

_”I suppose I could understand. If someone had told me that I was responsible for the deaths of thousands, I wouldn’t take it very well, either.”_

_”I didn’t tell him about any deaths, and only one combat scenario, Doctor. He seemed to be downright disturbed just by the idea of being in the military at all.”_

_Julian’s brows raised, his lips slack for a second, showing his teeth in that same pondering expression he’d always had, only now it was framed by slight age lines. What charming things. Haneri, if nothing else, had good taste in men. Julian had been about to speak again when the door chime sounded._

What is that charming little phrase? Speak of the devil? Almost applies, _Garak thought when the chime sounded over and over._

_“Come in,” Garak offered._

_Haneri strode in and presented Garak with a PADD. “Not much today, sir,” she said, and shifted from foot to foot awkwardly with her hands folded behind her back while she waited for the older Cardassian to look over the short list of items for him to sign. Garak muttered to himself about zoning issues, well aware that Haneri had a question._

_“Yes?” he asked, once he handed the device back._

_Haneri shot a glance toward Julian before she spoke again, “Ya know what? Never mind. Do you need anything, sir?”_

_”No, but my door is open whenever you want to talk,” Garak offered._

_Once Haneri was gone, Julian cocked his head in consideration. “She’s young, isn’t she?”_

_”I’d hardly call thirty-two_ young _. Naïve, perhaps.”_

_”I don’t know. She’s making friends pretty fast.”_

 

Garak was expecting Haneri when the door chime went off every few seconds, disrupting his digestion of the past few days’ conversations. He was surprised to have Dukat hastily thrust upon him by Ezri’s flustered shadow.

“Care to explain?” Garak asked, carefully herding the equally confused Dukat into his quarters to stand at his side. He tried not to wince, shooting Dukat a glance when he rested his hand on the younger man’s back.

“There’s been an accident and sick bay is swamped. Bolian freighter and an asteroid is what I’m hearing. Everyone with medical training, as well as every bed, is needed right now. I’m terribly sorry about this,” she said, edging away, “but the Doctor, or Counselor or the Captain will get back to you about the situation as soon as possible. I need to go. Sorry.” She reached behind her head to tighten her long ponytail as she took off down the hall. Garak made a mildly frustrated noise as he watched her go.

“Well then! Welcome back,” Garak said, slyly stepping away from Dukat’s touch. “It appears that you’ll be spending the night with me. Let me just replace the bedclothes for you, and you can get some rest.”

“Oh, no. I’ll take the couch. I wouldn’t want to put you out when you’ve been so kind to me, even though you don’t-“ Dukat looked down for a moment, studying his sleeve. They’d put him in something a little more _Dukat_ color-wise, though it was still fairly shapeless, that day; one of the dark gray spare jumpsuits the Federation seemed to have lying around by the thousands. It was a step up from scrubs, but just barely. Dukat looked up. “Never mind me,” he put on with a fake smile, “I’ll just sit on the couch until Miss Dax or Miss Taree comes to get me.”

Garak’s lips turned down slightly. A mild frown for a mild irritation. “What kind of host would I be if I made you sleep on the couch? I’ll be just a moment.” Garak ushered Dukat to the small loveseat he’d be provided, sat him down and ordered rokassa juice for Dukat. He handed the cup off to the slender man and walked briskly toward the bedroom, taking care of the sheets.

“There, now-“ Garak started upon returning, smoothing out his vest, only to be interrupted mid-sentence.

“I know why it hurts so much that you don’t like me,” Dukat said, quickly, as if he wouldn’t say it if it was more than one word.

“Why is that?” Garak asked, stopping in the doorway to the bedroom, folding his hands in front of him.

“Because I loved you, and you hurt me.” The admission makes Garak’s mouth feel dry. The back of his teeth have a taste he can’t place. “I don’t know what you did, but I know you took something important from me. Did you kill my daughter?”

“No,” Garak said. He took a deep breath and strode over to the plain, nearly empty cabinet. He took out a bottle and two glasses, the storage space’s only contents, and headed toward the sofa. “No, I didn’t. Your daughter and I were good friends.” Dukat’s miserable expression faded to a reserved sadness. “Do you remember kanar?” Garak asked, opening the bottle.

“The drink or the person? Because I’m pretty sure I’m not that old.” Dukat’s lips turned up slightly when Garak chuckled, but waved away the offer of a drink. “I don’t think my stomach can handle it.” Garak gave a nod and tipped back his drink. “Where did you get that, anyway?”

“Quark. He keeps a decent stock.”

“The Ferengi bartender?” Dukat asked, sitting up a little straighter. “I’ve seen him in passing, but I haven’t yet been in there. Wait, have I?”

“Oh yes,” Garak said, refilling his glass at half the volume of the first one. “If memory serves me, you’ve threatened to kill me in there. More than once.”

Dukat looked startled, then swiftly changed the subject; “It’s amazing how many species come and go through here. I can only remember living with Cardassians and Bajorans.”

“Quite,” Garak agreed. “Though it does still seem to be primarily Humans and Bajorans.”

Both are silent for a long moment, the only sound is the clink of the bottle against the glass as Garak pours himself another three fingers’ width.

“So, who did you kill, then?”

“You blamed me for your father’s death,” Garak said.

“But you didn’t kill him?”

“I put one of the nails in the coffin, to steal a phrase from the Humans.” Dukat’s head shot up and his eyes widened, suddenly looking hopeful.

“He didn’t die by your hand?”

“No. He was executed for treason,” Garak said, stopping with the rim of the glass under his lower lip, watching Dukat’s expression twist into one of confusion.

“I don’t understand. He was such a warm and gentle man. How could he do something so vile as treason?”

“He was a very tender and caring person,” Garak admitted, tossing the drink back before setting the cup aside. “That was his problem. He,” Garak looked around the room for the words, trying not to sigh, “had sympathy for our enemies, Dukat.”

Dukat sucked on his tongue for a moment, looking away. He seems to remember the rokassa juice and takes a long pull from the cup. “I’m sorry I blamed you for his death, then. But I don’t see what’s so bad about a little sympathy.”

“What did those wormhole aliens do to you?” Garak wondered aloud, giving a slow almost-fond shake of his head. “Sympathy for an enemy put The State at risk,” Garak explained.

“Of what?”

“Collapse. Chaos. Cultural contamination. Any number of things.”

“Cultural contamination? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your vest made of Tholian silk?” Dukat seemed almost offended, and the little barb made Garak laugh. Heartily.

“Why, yes. I suppose it is,” he relented. He reached for his glass and filled it once more. “To cultural contamination of the best variety,” he offered a toast, raising his glass. Dukat lifted his juice with a snort.

After Garak downed his newest drink and sat both cup and bottle aside, Dukat asked, “Did you ever love me?” Garak’s amusement died between heartbeats.

“No,” he answered, standing. He picked up the glass and bottle. As he put them away, he gave a peace offering, “I did find you very attractive, if it’s any consolation.”

Dukat huffed through his nose. “Little, but thank you.”

 

_A lingering touch here, a little barb there, and the younger Dukat was wound so tight he was about to snap. He was practically yelling at Garak over the Dukat family dinner table – three generations, with the oldest sibling now being a father, stared on as the debate grew more and more heated. Eventually, the elder Dukat stepped in._

_”Skrain! Garak is our guest, and I will not have you treating him this way!” Skrain’s hands had been firmly planted on either side of his plate, but his fingers curled then, scraping lightly against the wood as he sat back down, muttering an apology._

_”Oh, it’s alright,” Garak said, reaching out to lay his hand over the elder Dukat’s very briefly. “He’s just passionate. As he should be.” When Garak turned his gaze to Skrain, when their eyes met, the heat and hunger were there for both of them, though one was tinged with amusement, the other real anger._

 

_The elder Dukat’s prick was thick and dribbling, filling Garak’s mouth so wonderfully. He gagged himself on it, moaning softly, eyes rolling back a bit. “Don’t hurt yourself dear,” the low voice gasped. Fingers caressed the back of Garak’s head, smoothing his hair down. The younger man redoubled his efforts, wanting those fingers to grip and pull. Wanting the older Dukat to lose himself and_ really _use his mouth._

_It was so much more intense to know that Skrain was watching._

 

Garak couldn’t sleep with Dukat a room over. 

Throbbing lower scales didn't help, either. 


	6. New Life It Will Give

_Karal Blut was an attractive man, of that there was no doubt. Tall and broad shouldered, with a tapered waist and long legs, he stood a head over Garak. He slyly kept his hair trimmed a few centimeters shorter than the standard, offering a tantalizing peek – as he moved, turned his head to address or look at someone – of the edges of the hard scales that protected the back of a Cardassian neck._

_Garak found himself attracted to the man before he even spoke._

_When he did speak – in that deep, rumbling voice that dripped with honey and penetrated the seams between every scale – Garak found himself enthralled. The man could carry a conversation on any topic. From color choices in popular works of art to the quality of a particular glass of kanar, young Garak clung to every word._

 

Garak realized quickly that the flood of intimate memories was going to be a problem with Dukat in such close quarters. He came up with an excuse that Doctor Bashir would surely buy in order for Garak to get his hands on a suppressant of sorts before indulging his mind’s wandering.

 

_To say that Garak was floored when he discovered that Karal would be teaching him the ways of ‘sexual espionage’ would be an understatement. Why, he was downright giddy._

_The older man had demonstrated each act on Garak, again and again, leaving him trembling and out of breath. Spent more often than not, Garak barely even resisted the most perverse of pleasures. A quiet protest and a weak push were met with a soft chuckle and sweet words that opened even Garak’s secret marsh for the older man._

_Karal took on a different persona each session. He became a person Garak was to determine their particular sexual weakness, and without offending the crafted personality’s sensibilities. One of Garak’s favorite sessions had been when he’d had to coax it out of a persona that his personal weakness had been the most forbidden of all._

_A soft gasp and a twisting away of his partner’s bare body had been Garak’s only hint, when he’d brushed a finger over Karal’s anus by accident. The fake shivers that wracked Karal’s body as Garak took his length into his mouth led to the brush when he was helping the older man shift to be able to push deeper down his throat. He passed the finger back again, making the motion seem accidental once more. Karal had gasped again, and Garak almost everted in his devious glee, the shock of arousal that came with hinting at something so forbidden._

_”No, that’s-_ Oh _,” Karal had babbled, tightly bunched muscles instantly relenting to Garak’s inquisitive finger. Garak wriggled his finger, searching for the lumps that were the internal testes. Karal blinked again and again, staring up at the chipping paint on the ceiling, his mouth opening and closing in the most delicious act Garak had ever been witness to. “Oh!” he gasped again. A whispered, “forgive me,” had Garak in full bloom._

 

Garak did manage to drift off at some point, only to wake to a clattering of dishes.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Dukat supplied as if sensing Garak’s subtle shift from sleep to wakefulness.

“No apology necessary,” Garak answered, sitting up. He rubbed his eye ridges with his fingers. He was almost ready to thank Dukat, having been roused from a nightmare – or rather, a gaudily embellished memory. Karal’s death had not been so poetic and colorful as Garak’s subconscious had made it seem.

The older man had absconded with his lover, a Bolian woman. After Garak’s task was complete, he’d comforted the woman. Comforted her, sampled her, and ended her as well. Garak sighed.

“I thought we could have breakfast together.”

“What an idea,” Garak said, running his fingers through his hair. He raised a brow ridge when he caught sight of Dukat watching the action intently. “Well, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment so that I may make myself presentable.” He stood and tipped his head in Dukat’s direction and made a point of ignoring the older man’s fluster and flush as he turned on a bare heel and made his way to his bag, then to the refresher.

Dukat, Garak found once clean and feeling a little more in control of himself and his situation, made a lovely selection for breakfast. Breaded chicken tenders and a light soup of Cardassian origin, broth and biscuit for himself. Garak’s lips twitched up in a hint of a smile when he noticed Dukat had put jam on his biscuit. When Garak found himself hoping that the other’s stomach could handle the jam, his expression soured.

“No good?” Dukat asked, wringing his hands over his own food, nervously hunched.

“No, it looks lovely. I was just wondering if your stomach could handle the addition to your usual meal.” _Close enough_  
“It should,” Dukat answered, picking up his spoon and gesturing for Garak to sit. “I do apologize if I’ve made a poor selection. I haven’t played housewife since my ex-wife- I can’t remember her name just yet- don’t tell me, it’s on the tip of my tongue- A- Athena? Athren? It’ll come eventually. As I was saying, I haven’t played housewife since she had our last child together, as far as I remember.”

“Your memories seem to be coming along nicely,” Garak said conversationally as he took his seat. He inspected the utensils laid out before selecting the one most equipped for cutting into the chicken. “What do you remember about her?”

“She was elegant, but harsh and, ah, she left me.”

“Do you remember why?” Garak asked after a bite of the breaded fowl.

“I cheated on her,” Dukat stated plainly. “Was it with you?”

Garak choked out a laugh around the food, putting the back of his hand to his mouth until he got the reaction under control. “No. My, no,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Were we ever intimate?” Dukat asked, his scales bleached with embarrassment.

“We never had a chance to be.”

“Would you have, given the opportunity?” Dukat asked, seemingly more interested in his broth than Garak’s reaction.

“I told you yesterday that I did find you attractive, once upon a time. Did I not?” Garak asked, turning his attention to his soup, but keeping Dukat’s sheepish expression in his view.

Dukat’s brow scales scrunched for a moment, and he opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed his mouth again. He lifted a spoon of the broth from his bowl at the same time that he lifted his once downturned head. He then smiled for a moment, as he took in Garak’s face and expression, before extending the spoon as if it were a toast. “That you did,” he said before putting it in his mouth.

Garak could feel that this, whatever brought the smile to Dukat’s face, was going to escalate quickly.

 

The station, namely the infirmary, was exceedingly busy that entire day. When Garak wandered out of his room to find Haneri, _to make sure she hasn’t gotten into trouble when there’s already trouble afoot_ , he assured himself, he promised Dukat that he would return briefly. He was surprised that Dukat didn’t ask to go with him, but the muttered, “I hope your secretary is alright,” told him just why the older man wasn’t fussing to be taken on his walk.

_What would they think of us, should we walk about together?_ Garak asked himself as he adjusted the clasps on his tunic, trying not to turn around and drag the all-too-patient-now Dukat from their unfortunately shared single space. _Would they see a couple of senile, old Cardassians reliving their glory days, when the station was Terok Nor?_ he thought as he shook himself of the desire for company, heading off down the hall. _If they recognized him, I’m sure that’s what they’d think. And more._

“Mister Garak, is that you?” a voice called from behind. _Perhaps I’m getting too comfortable in my old age_ , Garak thought as he turned around.

He was met with the sight of a Bajoran woman who had been one of his most frequent customers all those years ago. She’d done a fabulous job of holding onto her youth, it seemed, and her hair was just as full and wild as ever.

“It is! Oh,” she said and turned back into her room, giving firm yet gentle commands to someone inside before she trotted out. “Are you coming back? I mean, bringing your shop?”

“I’m afraid not,” Garak started with a little tilt of his head. “I’m simply here for a visit with some old friends, and that has been postponed due to the recent accident.”

“Unfortunate,” she said with an agreeing nod. “But at least no one from the freighter has died. Yet, anyway.” A small, but charming grin worked its way onto the woman’s face. “Are you sure you don’t want to make a few strips of latinum real quick? Mister Shersam makes beautiful clothing, but he doesn’t believe in simply mending a tear or fixing a hem. Not without unnecessary embellishments, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” she said, waving her hand as if it weren’t important, “he likes to use gold filaments to stitch up tears. He says ‘scars give a garment attitude.’”

“Interesting,” Garak noted, “but not very practical.”

“That’s what I said,” the woman said with a smile. “Well, sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re never a bother,” Garak said. The two bid each other farewell with polite nods.

 

Haneri found Garak, a few paces before Shersam’s Boutique. He wanted to give the young lady credit for sneaking up on him, for controlling her heavy, booted footfalls, but one look at the soft loafers she was wearing changed his mind about the compliment.

“Nothing yet today, sir,” she said, once Garak had asked if there was anything from home. “But I had a question, if you don’t mind.” Garak inclined his head, encouraging her to continue. “Why did Ennu use quote fingers when he called you a Gul? Were you not military?”

“Quote fingers?” Garak asked, a brow ridge raised.

“Yeah, the thing he did with his smallest finger,” she said and mimed the gesture.

“And you’re on first name terms with this man, Haneri?” Garak asked, a bit of disapproval working its way into his voice.

“Of course I am, and don’t change the subject. I caught on to your game. Just answer the question,” she said, crossing her arms over something far more stylish than the clothes she usually wore. Something of Shersam’s, no doubt. Garak had thought Haneri dull-witted, but he smiled at his incorrect assumption being proven wrong.

“Perhaps he’s more intelligent than he looks,” was the only answer Garak gave.

Haneri’s boxy face scrunched in confusion and disappointment.

 

Back in his quarters, Garak found Ezri with Dukat. She breathed a rather large sigh of relief and jumped up to greet Garak. She explained the situation and asked if he would mind, terribly, if Dukat spent yet another night with him. If he felt any disgust at the notion, it didn’t show on Garak’s face. When he agreed, Ezri thanked him profusely before hurrying off.

“Well, since I took the bed last night, it’s only fair that you take it tonight,” Dukat said, sipping from a cup in his hands. “Miss Dax brought by some reading,” he nodded to a PADD on the table before him. “Shall we?”

“Why not?” Garak asked, taking the device in hand.

 

He didn’t expect to be woken by a long, hard body pressed tightly against his in the middle of the night, yet he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just got "A Stitch In Time"?! ... Me. Uh, yeah, it was me.
> 
> Honestly, it's been hard to set my tablet aside long enough to work on this. "One more entry can't hurt, right? Right. ... Oh, fuck, I'm on entry eighteen! When did that happen?!"


	7. Taken Down For Use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of realtime dubcon in this chapter.

Garak’s first reaction isn’t to panic. Rather, it’s anger.

_Of course it was all a ploy. Wormhole aliens wiping his memory! What a joke. I never thought he’d go this far to get his revenge, but you should never put a son’s love to the test, Elim. And he’s got all of the medical staff on this station wrapped around his little finger! They think him toothless, defanged, and yet he comes her in the middle of the night to- What? Kill me? He is doing a terrible job of suffocating me, if that’s his intent._ Garak rants to himself before forcing his body to comply with his order of wakefulness and reaches over for Dukat’s skinny neck.

Dukat’s gasp is surprised, his whimper real. Garak quickly finds himself on top of the slender man, hand pressed over that enticing throat, fingers digging into the sensitive underside of the scales that frame it. Dukat pawed weakly at Garak’s arm, gasping and twisting under him, pushing up against the heavier body. He straddles the slender man, pinning his legs down with his own, using his free hand to wrench one of Dukat’s arms over his head.

Dukat’s eyes widen, glinting in the low light, his lips parted in an attempt to gasp. Garak is struck by how attractive that little shine of fear is, by how much he still wants Dukat. By how much Dukat still wants him if the everted, clothed erection rubbing him awkwardly is any indication. Rage burns through Garak’s blood at Dukat’s _assumption_ that he would be up for that kind of activity, and yet his body complies.

He makes quick work of Dukat’s sleep clothes, and shoves his own loose pants down his thighs. Dukat doesn’t fight as Garak works him open on his fingers, not yet removing his hand from that slender neck, though he does relax the pressure just a little bit. Dukat cries out when Garak enters his purse, stretching him wide open. The slender man arched his back, pushing up against the hand on his throat, reaching out for Garak, not able to get a solid hold.

Dukat writhed, pushing back against Garak as he grit his teeth, trying to hold himself back. It soon became an exercise in futility, and he took his hand away, planting it on the bed beside the angular features to get better leverage.

Dukat just clung to the larger body as Garak took him again and again.

It could have lasted minutes or hours, but when Garak filled Dukat’s purse with his essence, the other’s whimper brought him back to reality. When he looked down at the slender body, he noticed a healthy flush, eyes half-lidded, mouth wide open as he panted, and his stomach covered in semen. Dukat was still half-everted, his _chuva_ overflowing with his own emissions, dribbling over as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Shit,” Garak breathed.

“Huh?” Dukat asked, struggling to open his eyes all the way. He moved his hand up to scratch his chest and jerked it away when he came into contact with cooling semen. “Ohh,” he whined when Garak pulled out slowly, carefully. “Why didn’t we do this before we hated each other?” Dukat asked. When Garak didn’t answer, Dukat looked over at him. “Garak?” he asked. “Where are you going?”

Between wiping himself down and slipping on a cleaner pair of pajamas from the previous night, Garak answered, “I’m going to turn myself in to security.”

“What? Why?” Dukat demanded, sitting up, cupping one hand over his _chuva_ so his fluids wouldn’t find the sheets. Garak stopped in his tracks, packing up his things so it would be easier for the security officer to grab. He turned to Dukat, the other’s ripped sleep shirt in hand.

“I just forced you to have sex with me,” Garak hissed, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You absolutely did not!” Dukat replied, a bit of his old self-righteous superiority finding his voice.

“You’re not in any state to give consent,” Garak said, watching Dukat closely as the other stood. The slender man took the night shirt from Garak and cleaned himself off as best he could, shaking his head all the while.

“I may not have all of my memories, but I know what I want right now. I do find you attractive, and I do care for you, and I consented, no matter what you may think.”

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

“So you fucked me?” Dukat asked, unable to resist laughing at the ridiculous notion.

“Your neck was,” and Garak blinked a few times before he continued, taking his hands from his hair where they’d gone in a nervous fit, “lovely. I was angry, and aroused by the pressure of a body against mine.”

“So was I,” Dukat said, approaching the other. “Even with your hand on my throat it,” he stopped to wet his lips, “well, I think that made it feel even better. Not that I have anything to compare it to.” A grin split his angular features. “You could give me something to compare it to,” he said as he lifted his arms to drape them over Garak’s shoulders. Garak pulled back with a startling quickness.

“No,” he said and shook his head. “No, you won’t be saying any of that once you get your memory back. You should really find someone else to stay with. We- you, rather- should see if there’s space in the infirmary again. I’m liable to-“

“To what? Work my body in ways I haven’t experienced since I hired a Bajoran woman who’d been a prostitute all her life and practically forced her to do strange things with an alien anatomy?” Dukat demanded. “I’m starting to get my memories back, _Elim_ , and if we’re as bad as you say we are, we fucking deserve each other. You’re the only person I know who is still alive. Even the Dax girl isn’t how I remember her. She got shorter!” Anger gave way to a sadness as Dukat drew closer, his shoulders slumping, making that neck look even longer. “I know these people mean well. I know they’ll take care of me until I figure out everything I’ve done, and I know I’m going to go to prison for a very long time if I’m not executed. If I deserve it, I will gladly hang, but until then,” Dukat takes a breath, draws in closer, “please.” Garak allows the contact when it’s just a hand on his arm. “You’re the only one like me. I don’t want to be alone.”

“What have I done?” Garak asked himself out loud before he reached out to take Dukat by the shoulders. He leveled Dukat with his gaze. “You really should file a report, press charges, stay somewhere else. But if you’re sure that you want this – and that you won’t sneak into my bed anymore – we can talk. I’m not saying yes to any kind of romantic involvement, but I will stay here with you. At least until you get your memory back and are fit to stand trial.” _Stop making promises,_ Garak’s mind hissed at him. But part of him had a reason, “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

“I’m sorry for yelling earlier,” Dukat said as Garak led him toward the shower.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. However, there is the little matter of why you were in my bed in the first place.”

“I was cold.”

 

_”This is my assignment? Are you kidding me?” Garak demanded, throwing the device with his instructions on the table. His cover name was irrelevant, he wasn’t going to do this. He would dig his heels in regardless of the consequences. This interrogation had nothing to do with his current target._

_”Those are your instructions, Keta. You will do as you are told.”_

_”The sixteen year old is the only one I will interrogate. The other five cannot possibly have anything to do with any resistance cell.”_

_”Those are your instructions!” the military man behind the desk shouted back._

_”One of them is only seven!”_

_”You have your orders, Keta.”_

_Garak decided then that, as it wasn’t relevant to his real mission, these were orders that he need not comply with._

 

Later, after Garak had managed to calm himself and they had both cleaned up, they had breakfast in the replimat. Things seemed to be going well, Dukat easily answering most of Garak’s questions, even his ex-wife’s name. They discussed the possibility of getting in contact with her, even though Garak suggested against it. Dukat was running through a list of the names of his children that he remembered when two people approached their table.

“Elim Garak?” a higher-pitched, but still decidedly male voice asked.

“Yes, and you are?”

“Vol Tarken, and this is my wife, Mezri,” he said with a gesture of one scaled hand to his left, to a Bajoran woman with the longest brown hair Garak had ever seen on one of her species. “We wanted to thank you,” Vol clarified, his _chufa_ a healthy pale blue with his embarrassed excitement. Males typically didn’t blush that color without a significant strain, and it raised Garak’s brow.

“For what?” he asked bluntly, looking between the two. The red of her dress complemented the pinkish hue of her skin, just as the Cardassian’s light blue tunic and slacks complemented his blue-gray color.

“For allowing us to be married!” Mezri put in. “We’ve been moving from place to place, looking for someone who would allow us to be joined, and clearly that wasn’t going to happen on Bajor. Apparently, no one wanted to allow it to happen on Cardassia either,” she said.

“Until you, uh, sir,” Vol added. “So, we just wanted to stop by and give you our thanks before we headed off to our honeymoon.”

_Oh, so those were the people whose license I signed off on without looking at,_ Garak thought to himself with an amused huff under his breath. “Well,” he said aloud, picking up his cup, “no need to thank me. To new beginnings and happy futures,” he said and held his cup up in a toast. Dukat joined him.

Dukat smiled as he watched the young couple hurry off. “It’s good to see the tension between our species’ going away,” he said wistfully.

“Well, it’s not that simple. Not yet,” Garak said with a shake of his head. “The Bajorans are still bitter, and Cardassians are still generally xenophobic. We’ve had to get over it in recent years or die, but there’s still a general distrust of anyone without scales.” After he thought for a moment he added, “or anyone with scales for that matter.” At his regular volume, he put forth, “I’ll have to show you some day. We can take a tour of Kardasia’or before you stand trial, and you can see how the species’ segregate themselves.”

“I’d like that,” Dukat answered, nibbling slowly on some scrambled eggs he’d decided to have in place of his biscuit alongside his broth. “The tour, not the segregation.”

Even as he smirks, Garak can't help but wonder when Dukat's therapy will resume and how much trouble he's in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the feeling this may wind up being part of a series, even though I don't want it to be. You know that feeling where the ideas just don't stop even though you have to make cookies and finish the sign for that thing at school and classes start in a week and there's issues with your taxes so your student funding is going to be late, but you can't stop writing in every minute of downtime you have? Yeah, me too.


End file.
